Drug Money

It becomes clear to my sister and me that since my mother had the check in hand, and that who knows how long it would take A-Z to reissue a check – and they don’t relish the expense of doing this again…


The good news is that a check came to my parents’ house in North Carolina this week. It was a substantial amount, in the low four figures, in response to some class-action lawsuit settlement; not positive which drug was involved. The company issuing the check is a pharmaceutical company who I won’t name; we’ll just call it A-Z.

The slightly not-so-good news is that the check is made out to Leslie H. Green, my father, who is deceased, has been deceased for nearly ten years. This is quite annoying since my mother filled out paperwork back in April informing A-Z of this fact. At least the check came to my father c/o my mother, but it doesn’t make it any easier to cash.

At my sister’s request, I contacted A-Z. After going through a myriad of telephone menus, I reached a real person, who transferred me to another real person, who expressed her condolences at my father’s passing. “How long ago did he die?” “Ten years.”

I was then transferred to the nurse. This was not for MY benefit, but rather CYA for A-Z since the deceased (i.e., my father) died around the time he was taking their medication. The nurse wants to know when he died – “August 10, 2000” – and from what “prostate cancer”. After she was done, she too expressed her condolences at my father’s passing.

Then she transferred me to someone who was going to transfer me to the person who could address my question. She expressed her condolences at my father’s passing.

I was told I would be on hold for three minutes, then someone would pick up and help me. Instead, I was on hold for two minutes, then I was disconnected.

OK, so I call A-Z back. After eventually getting a real person again, I conveyed to her why I had called, and also that I had already spoken to the nurse. I was transferred to someone who was going to transfer me to someone else when I indicated that was the point I had gotten disconnected the LAST time I called. She stayed on the line the full three minutes (or more – I didn’t time it) that I was waiting, then made the transfer, after expressing her condolences at my father’s passing.

I explain the situation to this guy. He says my mom should deposit the check. I say my mom no longer has an account in my father’s name, so she cannot deposit the check. He said that she could mail back the check, but that she would need to write VOID on it, write a letter explaining the situation, provide his death certificate, provide proof that she is his primary heir, etc.

As I explained this to my sister, it becomes clear to us that since my mother had the check in hand, and that who knows how long it would take A-Z to reissue a check – and they don’t relish the expense of doing this again – they should try to deposit it. If that didn’t work, they (my mother and sister) would set up an estate account for my father and deposit the check; this might require setting up a DBA of some sort, but it would be worth it.

So I spent a half-hour during the week leading up to Father’s Day being reminded that this is the 10th Father’s Day I’ve spent without my father. I knew that already, of course, but I did want to thank A-Z, who COULD have, I’m thinking, written the check to my MOTHER, and keep me from all this rigamarole. Just saying.
***
I state this every year, but it is no less true for that: I wish my father had had the opportunity to meet my daughter.

 

PAIN Question

I’ve withstood root canal. I’ve broken a rib. I’ve gotten rabies shots…


My wife managed to roll up the power windows of the car on three of my fingers last Sunday; I was pulling the door closed. Yes, I used invectives that I tend not to use around The Daughter. Later, The Daughter asked me if this was the worst pain that I had ever experienced. The answer was clearly no, and in fact, I was glad that it was the middle three fingers, because I suspect that catching any one finger would have hurt worse and possibly would have suffered real damage.

I’ve definitely experienced much greater discomfort. I’ve withstood root canal. I’ve broken a rib. I’ve gotten rabies shots, which are pretty nasty because they’re big needles and they have to stay in for 10 seconds.

But probably the worst pain involved stepping on a nail, not the initial activity, which certainly hurt enough, but rather the removal of pieces of my sneaker from my foot by the doctor. That was in May 2000; just got a tetanus booster this spring.

So:
1) What was the worst pain you’ve endured? I know for my wife it was oral surgery, which made childbirth seem like a walk in the park.
2) What activity that you do regularly causes you the most pain? Clearly for me, this is donating blood. I have done it 136 times – that’s 17 gallons – and when the nurse says, “You’ll feel a little pinch,” I know that’s a lie. It passes, but it hurts. P.S., I never look. Ever.

Macca Is 68

Paul McCartney hadn’t been that controversial since he recorded Give Ireland Back to the Irish back in 1972.


I figure that I should mention Paul McCartney on his birthday every year, as long as he’s still around. Fortunately, this year, there’s the big news to talk about.

That, of course, would be him being named the third Library of Congress Gershwin Prize winner, after Paul Simon and Stevie Wonder. At an event with President Obama, McCartney created a bit of bluster with the right-wing bloggers when he made a joke at the expense of Obama’s precessor, GW Bush. Horrors! Paul hadn’t been that controversial since he recorded Give Ireland Back to the Irish back in 1972.

The event will be televised on PBS on July 28.

Here’s a live recording of Cosmically Conscious, written back when Paul was in India in 1968. A snippet of this song appeared at the end of his 1993 Off the Ground album

Check the June 17, 2010 episode of Coverville, #683; Brian Ibbott has promised a McCartney cover story.
***
It’s also Roger Ebert’s 68th birthday. He just won a Webby award, indeed was named person of the year; he needed just three words in a dead language to express his appreciation of the honor. While he’s still writing his fine movie reviews, it is his journal about American flag T-shirts, racism, alcoholism, death, and how Twitter has empowered him now that he cannot speak that has been the truly amazing part of his narrative.

John C. Reilly Would Really Understand Me

The Muppet Rowlf was a regular on the Jimmy Dean Show, sometime during its 1963-1966 run on ABC-TV


I’m watching The Daily Show with Jon Stewart recently, miraculously only a couple days after the show aired. John C. Reilly, who I know best from the movie Chicago, was on, ostensibly to plug his new movie, Cyrus. But it is what he said about music, at about 4:20 of this clip, that really struck me. Seems that when he was a kid, when his mom or dad would say a word or a phrase, he would come up with a song to go along with it. I did/do the same damn thing!

And while we both realized it could be really annoying, it was not done for that purpose. It happened because that’s the way we connect the dots in the world. I was reading a cereal box recently, FCOL, and the first sentence was “Life is complicated.” IMMEDIATELY, I thought, “Why is life SO COM-pli-cated?” That’s a line from which uses the Stevie Wonder-penned song, because I haven’t yet SEEN that yet.
***
I wanted to write about the singer Jimmy Dean, but needed an angle, and didn’t find one until I read this article. Of COURSE! The Muppet Rowlf was a regular on the Jimmy Dean Show, sometime during its 1963-1966 run on ABC-TV, which I would occasionally watch. So Dean hired Jim Henson early on. Here’s a dated bit between country singer and dog, a Rowlf ad for the Dean show, and an ad for a Rowlf doll; note the early version of Kermit the Frog.

The other thing about Jimmy Dean is his big hit, Big Bad John, and how near the end, when the line reads, “At the bottom of this mine lies a big, big man.” Yet I always hear something coarser, such as “a helluva man.”

If I ever had his sausage, I have no recollection.
***
Crispian St. Peters died, best known for song called Pied Piper. But he also had a minor hit with Evanier gives details of the great artist’s life.

The Daughter’s First Gay Pride Parade

This experience reminded me of the years my father used to drag me to civil rights events when I was a kid. I didn’t always understand the nuance of the activity…

We almost didn’t make it.

I have participated in the Gay Pride Parade in Albany at least a half dozen times. And since this was the 40th anniversary of the Capital District Gay and Lesbian Community Council (CDGLCC), reportedly the longest continuously-running group of its type in the nation, this was a particularly significant event this year.

This past Sunday just seemed too complicated, though. The Daughter was having a dance recital later that afternoon, and the weather was looking threatening to boot. But The Wife had volunteered to serve coffee after church, and that involved cleanup afterward.

So I suggested that The Daughter and I at least watch the parade. The Sunday school assignment of the junior high kids at our church that morning was to work on the float with some parishioners and one of our pastors, so The Daughter was at least aware of our congregation’s involvement. And she watched it being finished after Sunday school.

As we waited for the noon start time, I decided that we could find the More Light Presbyterian contingent and at least walk with them from the park to the church a couple of blocks. I see State Senator Neil Breslin with probably the most well-known gay rights activist in the area, Times Union blogger Libby Post who wrote, before the parade, about unusual acceptance at a local high school. (I agree with someone’s assertion that “tolerance” of gay people seems akin to “tolerating” root canal or “tolerating” veggies you don’t like but eat anyway; not an adequate word at all.) There were other local pols there as well; US Senator Kirsten Gillibrand was not there, but there was a float representing her.

So, The Daughter and I start walking with the Presbys. At an entrance to the park was the small, but apparently vocal “God can cure homosexuals” band. While most people along the parade line cheered our group, I heard at least one guy from the Westboro-like cabal refer to us as “an abomination”; I think this was supposed to hurt our feelings.

Picture courtesy of Kevin Marshall

We’re about back to our church when I see our car. The Wife had parked it right along the parade route, so we wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while anyway; might as well keep walking.

In the car that was part of our contingent was a cardboard Jesus wearing a rainbow lei, bobbing up and down in the moon roof; it was a big hit.

Later, she watched the event coverage on TV (I taped four stations, and caught three reports), and she was only slightly disappointed that she didn’t get any air time.

This experience reminded me of the years my father used to drag me to civil rights events when I was a kid. I didn’t always understand the nuance of the activity, but I DID know that it was Important. And occasionally, fun.
***
From Salon: Polygamy vs. gay marriage; An exclusive clip from “8: The Mormon Proposition” explores the historical irony behind the LDS anti-gay campaign.

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